


On the Expression of Grief

by oftheashtree



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: I'm dabbling, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Off-screen death, SHIELD Husbands, Sad, not a satisfying ending, phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftheashtree/pseuds/oftheashtree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle, Clint returns to an empty apartment and realizes that it will never again feel like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Expression of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger warning: death of a spouse, breakdown.

His ears are ringing.

He eats the food in front of him, but he doesn’t taste it. His head feels like it’s filled with cotton. His stomach rolls dangerously, and he feels like he might be sick, but he can’t muster the energy to move or blink or even _breathe_ deeply. He feels undone.

Natasha had told him after the battle was finished. She’d broken the news very gently, reaching out to rest a hand against his bicep. He’d let it lay there because it was nice; human touch was nice. His vision had gone blurry as soon as the words registered, though, and he'd felt like he was underwater.

He doesn’t know how, but he makes it through eating with the team and the very extensive debrief afterwards. He’s sluggish and distracted, but he makes it. Fury tries to keep him behind, probably to talk about what happened, but Clint shrugs off the director’s orders and hightails it out of there.

It takes nearly three hours to get to their apartment. There’s debris everywhere, but the building was far enough away from the fight to avoid major damage.

He walks slowly up the stairs to the fifth floor. There’s a working elevator, but Phil never liked it. He didn’t like elevators in general, if Clint’s being honest. Before he knows it, he's standing in front of their door. It takes him a minute to muster up enough energy and courage to run through the retinal scan and the biometric lock and open it. He realizes distantly as he reaches for the handle that his hands are shaking. He can't bring himself to care.

The apartment is exactly how they’d left it almost a month ago before leaving on their separate assignments. There’s a dog-eared book on the coffee table in front of their couch that Phil had been reading. A Captain America mug sits on the drying rack waiting to be put away. Clint’s favorite purple afghan is throw over the back of the armchair.

He gazes at the remnants of their life together and feels numb. He’s aware that his breathing has quickened. He can feel his eyes stinging. He knows that he’s overdue for a breakdown, but it’s as if he’s lost the will to do – well, to do anything. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t want to sleep. He doesn’t want to _breathe_ anymore.

The glasses are what break him.

They’re on the end table propped against the lamp that Phil liked to have on when he read. They’re Clint’s favorite pair, black as night and rectangular. They make – made – Phil look distinguished, not to mention sexy as hell. He walks over and picks them up, turning them over in his hands carefully. A droplet lands on the lens and he brushes his fingers under his eye; he doesn’t remember when he started crying.

The tears turn into gasping cries and then into heaving sobs. He collapses into the couch and bends nearly double, sinking his hands into his hair and _pulling_. His grief turns quickly into anger and he throws the glasses across the room with a half-yell, half-sob. He grabs Phil’s book and throws that, too, and then he overturns the coffee table and chucks it into the far wall. As quickly as the anger came, it leaves and he’s left to sink to the floor and dissolve once more into tears.

Nothing will ever be right again. This apartment will never again feel like home.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, every fic is a fix-it. Coulson lives forever.
> 
> However, I did want to explore Clint's grief (and I'm talking about grieving a spouse, here, because in my mind Phil and Clint are always married) demonstrated in a slightly different way. I wanted to see him angry, empty, alone, and lost, and I wanted to see him suffer. (I know I'm a horrible person). Anyway, thanks for reading; I write this stuff mostly because my mind won't be quiet until I do, so that's reward enough, but when other people appreciate it, that's super awesome, too. 
> 
> This isn't beta-ed.


End file.
